


Boy on a String

by WhatsYourNameMan



Series: It’s not Sunset Cis either [20]
Category: Julie and The Phantoms (TV)
Genre: Alex Luke and Reggie are trans but it's never mentioned, Angst with a Happy Ending, Caleb Covington Being a Bastard, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, I put Willie through A Lot in this I'm sorry, I'm hoping there won't be too much of that though, M/M, Physical Abuse, Whump, Willie Backstory (Julie and The Phantoms), Willie-centric (Julie and The Phantoms), he/they willie, i really do love him, it's just important to me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:53:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28962003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatsYourNameMan/pseuds/WhatsYourNameMan
Summary: “No,” Willie interrupts. “No, I want to. It’s just— it’s so hard.” They can feel a sob rising in their throat, and they try to hold it down. “I’ve been so lonely for so long, and it hurts to remember what I used to have. I’m jealous of you Alex, I really am.” A tear slips from their eye, and they give up on suppressing it. They let the dam burst. “And I know that sounds so shitty to say because you’ve lost so much, but at least you have someone, you know? You got to bring Luke and Reggie with you, and I know you lost Bobby, and your sister, but at least you have some of your family. I don’t haveanyonefrom my life.EveryoneI knew— my friends, my family, April—they all moved on without me, and I just had to watch.”Or, how Willie ended up involved with the Hollywood Ghost Club, and how Alex helps him move on.(Can be read as a standalone from the rest of the series)
Relationships: Alex Mercer/Willie (Julie and The Phantoms), Caleb Covington & Willie, Willie & Original female character
Series: It’s not Sunset Cis either [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2022667
Comments: 28
Kudos: 107





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> No content warnings in this chapter, just discussion of Willie's death. 
> 
> Title, lyrics, and chapter titles from "Popstar" by New Hollow.

_I can’t remember when I had a thought of my own  
I can’t remember the day I sold my soul  
So I’ll do just what I’m told  
And I’ll call that rock and roll  
I can’t remember the last time that I smiled  
That wasn’t for a camera_

Willie knows they shouldn’t be here. They promised themself decades ago that they would stop doing this. They had stuck true to their word for so long, but this morning they had woken up feeling that deep, aching loneliness in their bones, or whatever they had in place of bones, and they just had to see her. Had to know if she’s okay.

The last time Willie saw their cousin April, it was 1991. She was twenty years old and Willie had only been dead for two of those. Now, she’s forty-nine, fifty next month, and Willie can’t even bring themself to imagine how much she could have changed in all that time. _Willie’s_ changed so much, and that shouldn’t even be possible. 

It’s that fear of the unknown that keeps them hovering outside her house, unable to go inside and face the present. So here they are, sitting on the swing set in the backyard and just staring at the back door. 

There’s a small whooshing sound to their right, and Willie doesn’t even have to look to know who it is. 

“This is a new spot,” Alex says, his voice soft, like he’s unsure if he’s intruding on some sacred moment. 

“Nah,” Willie chuckles. “Probably the oldest spot there is. Haven’t come here in a while, though.” They reach out their hand, and Alex takes it immediately. “How’d you find me?” 

“You know how I can always kind of sense where Luke and Reggie are?” Alex asks, and Willie nods. “Guess that extends to you, too.” He pauses and holds up Willie’s skateboard. “Plus, you left this in the driveway.”

Willie gives him and small smile and takes the board. They place it on the ground and use their feet to roll it back and forth.

“So what is this place?” Alex asks. 

Willie hesitates before answering, “My cousin’s house.”

“April?”

“Yeah,” Willie says, willing their voice not to break. 

“You don’t talk about her much,” Alex says, giving Willie’s hand a little squeeze. “Or about anything before the club, really.”

Willie just shrugs. It’s rare for them to have trouble finding words, to have trouble deflecting others from the pain they keep hidden so well, but today they just feel _empty_. 

“You don’t have to tell me about it if—“

“No,” Willie interrupts. “No, I want to. It’s just— it’s so hard.” They can feel a sob rising in their throat, and they try to hold it down. “I’ve been so lonely for so long, and it hurts to remember what I used to have. I’m jealous of you Alex, I really am.” A tear slips from their eye, and they give up on suppressing it. They let the waterworks flow. “And I know that sounds so shitty to say because you’ve lost so much, but at least you have someone, you know? You got to bring Luke and Reggie with you, and I know you lost Bobby, and your sister, but at least you have some of your family. I don’t have _anyone_ from my life. _Everyone_ I knew— my friends, my family, April—they all moved on without me, and I just had to watch.”

Alex gets up from the swing, and panic flashes through Willie’s mind. They’ve upset him, they have no right to be jealous of him, he’s just going to leave like everyone—

Strong arms wrap around them and cut off their spiral. They blink, taking a moment to process, then hug Alex back, burying their face in his neck. 

“Willie,” Alex breathes. “I can’t even imagine—“ he breaks off, taking in a shuddering breath. “I would have been so lost without the guys. Without _you_. I’m so sorry you had to go through that.” Alex pulls back and cups Willie’s face in his hands, using his thumbs to wipe their tears away. “I know it doesn’t change what happened in the past, but I promise you as long as I can help it you’ll never be alone again.”

Willie pulls Alex back in. “Thank you,” they mumble into his chest. 

“I love you,” Alex says, “and I want to know whatever you’ll tell me about your past. Whenever you decide you’re ready.”

Willie nods, their cheek rubbing against the soft fabric of Alex’s hoodie. “I think I’m ready. I want you to know me. It’s just… it’s a lot.”

Alex sits back down on the swing, taking Willie’s hand. “Take your time.”

Willie takes a deep breath. “I guess… I guess I should start before I died.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next few chapters will be set pre-canon, and I’m sorry to say it’s going to get a lot more painful before it gets better.


	2. I Can’t Remember The Last Time That I Smiled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look at Willie’s last day alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: bad parenting, homophobia, underage drinking and smoking, and Willie dies at the end. It’s not graphic, but it’s pretty sudden. 
> 
> Idk if this warrants a warning but I decided to give Willie rejection sensitivity dysphoria bc it’s my fic and I can project onto whoever I want.

“William, we’re not done talking to you!” 

Willie bursts out the front door, shoving his helmet onto his head and ignoring his mother’s call. He drops his board and sets off down the street as his father emerges into the front yard. 

“William! Get back here!” 

Willie picks up the speed, not relaxing until he’s around the corner and certain his parents aren’t following him. This isn’t the first time he’s stormed out of a conversation with his parents, and he’s certain it won’t be the last. He knows it’s a bad habit, and he really tried to stick this one out, but he could only sit and listen to his parents list off every way he’s disappointed them for so long until he had to get out of there. 

He lets out a breath as the familiar sounds of the skatepark reach his ears. He spots his friends gathered around a bench by the vert, probably waiting for him. He was supposed to be here an hour ago, but that was before his parents had ambushed him. 

April is the first to spot him. “Hey, kid,” she says as he rolls to a stop beside her. She pulls him in for a quick hug. “Where you been?”

Willie rolls his eyes. “Dad wanted to know when I’m going back to school.”

“Man, again?” Sean asks. “When is he gonna let up?”

Willie and April share a look, both knowing that Willie’s father has never let up on anything in his life. 

“You made the right choice,” Logan says, taking a drag of her cigarette. “No seventeen-year-old should be in college. That kind of pressure just fucks you up.” 

“ _I_ know that,” Willie says, shaking his head when Logan offers him a puff, “but he’s never gonna let it go. And then my mom decided to pile on and say that if I’m not going to be in school, I should at least ‘straighten up’ and get a real job, like doing all this design work is nothing. And on top of all that—“ He cuts himself off, realizing he hadn’t meant to admit this next part to his friends. It’ll just piss them off, and he’ll have to talk them down from going to confront his parents. Again. 

“Bill, what else did they say?” April asks, her voice dangerously soft. Willie would bet she already knows the answer. 

Willie lets out a cold laugh. “They said if I don’t cut my hair and start acting like a man, I’ll never find a girlfriend.”

“Those bastards,” Sean growls, his hands curling into fists. 

“Dude,” Willie says, putting a hand on his shoulder. “It’s fine.” It’s not, really. He shouldn’t have to hear his parents pick apart every aspect of his appearance from his hair to his earring to his fucking socks, desperately warning him that they make him come off as a homosexual, despite the fact he’s told them a million times that he _is_ a homosexual. It’s not fine, but he doesn’t want another scene like the last time Sean caught wind of a comment like this. His parents wouldn’t let him out for a week afterwards. 

“It’s not fine, Willie!” Sean barks, and Logan nods in agreement. 

“Clearly our message didn’t get through last time,” she says. 

“Guys,” April says. “I know your hearts are in the right place, but last time was the opposite of helpful.” 

Sean locks eyes with her, about to argue, but he sees her withering glare and backs down. “Fine.” He turns back to Willie. “But just say the word and I’ll be there.”

“Thanks, man,” Willie says, and he really means it. “Now can we we actually skate this thing?” he asks, nodding towards the vert. 

“God, yes,” April says. “I came here to watch Logan eat concrete, not talk about feelings.”

She throws Willie a wink and he heads towards the ramp, ignoring Logan’s indignant protests. Willie gives her a grateful look and follows her. 

They reach the top before the others, and April grabs his arm, rubbing her thumb over his bicep. Willie’s not sure if she’s ever realized she does that, but it’s so calming he’s never dared to point it out for fear she might stop. 

“Are you okay?” she asks. “Really?” 

“I will be,” Willie says with a little smile to let her know he’s telling the truth. 

Logan and Sean climb up behind them, shattering the moment with their bickering about who’s turn it is to pay for dinner or something stupid like that. 

“Shut up and line up, fuckers,” April snaps, but the twinkle in her eyes makes it clear she’s joking. 

The four of them line up at the edge of the ramp, with April on Willie’s left and Sean on his right. This moment right here, the moment just before taking the drop with his three best friends, is the moment Willie feels most alive. They’ve done this together more times than he can count, but it never loses its thrill. 

“Count us down, Bill,” April says. 

Willie rolls his eyes at the nickname, but raises three fingers in the air. “Three! Two! One!”

In near-perfect sync, the four of them drop down the ramp, letting out joyous screams as the gravity pulls their stomachs into their throats and the wind blows through their hair.

_This_ , Willie thinks, _this is what makes life worth living._

They skate for hours, taking turns showing off their new tricks and helping each other learn. Some kids are busking nearby, providing a surprisingly good soundtrack, and one of the older skaters comes around to commission Willie for a paint job on his new board. It’s such a perfect afternoon it’s easy to push all thoughts of his parents out of his head. Things aren’t just good, they’re _great_. He’s happy, and he’s not going to let his parents get in the way of that. 

Eventually the sun starts to set and the quartet heads off together, skating slowly to avoid the inevitable point where they have to split up. 

“Are you guys coming to the museum tonight?” Logan asks. 

“If this one isn’t under house arrest,” April says, jerking her head towards Willie. 

“What’s going on at the museum?” Willie asks. “An opening or something?”

“If you were here on time,” Sean says, giving him an exaggerated eye roll, “you’d know that I got a job as a night guard.”

“No way,” Willie says. “Congrats, man.”

“And tonight,” Logan says, “he’s going to let us in after hours.”

“Bold move for your first day,” Willie says. “I like it.” 

Sean gives him a proud grin as they reach the turn for his neighborhood. “Midnight,” he says, and breaks off from the rest of them, giving them a little salute. 

Logan splits off a few blocks later, and then April one block away from Willie’s. 

“Good luck,” she says. “I’ll be at your window at midnight.” 

Willie nods and does his best to shove down the creeping anxiety that grows bigger the further away April grows. 

He opens his front door as quietly as possible, praying that no one will notice his arrival even if it means he won’t get dinner for the night. He can always eat later once April comes to bust him out. 

He’s almost to his room when his mom calls out, “William?” 

He bites back a groan and backtracks to the kitchen, where she’s cooking dinner.

“Hey, Mom.” He tries for a cheerful tone, hoping his smile is enough to convince her everything is alright enough that they don’t need to continue their earlier discussion. “Smells good.” 

She looks over and frowns at the board in his hand. “How many times do I have to tell you to keep that thing in the garage?” 

“Sorry,” he says, and that one little comment shouldn’t be enough to fill his gut with shame but apparently it is. “I just needed to put a new layer of paint on it so I thought—“

“It doesn’t matter,” she says, waving a hand dismissively, and Willie has to bite his tongue before he blurts out _I wasn’t done_. He’s been doing that a lot these days. 

“Go wash up for dinner,” she says. 

Willie nods and sets off for his bedroom again, but another call from his mom stops him short. 

“William,” she says. “We love you.” This is about the closest thing he’ll ever get to an apology. 

He gives her a small smile. “Love you too.” He doesn’t mean it as forgiveness. He does mean it, though. 

Dinner is spent counting down the minutes until he can escape out the window, telling his parents about his day and the new commission he got while they all pretend they hadn’t told him that his painting gig was worthless less than six hours ago.

Midnight finally rolls around, and April is waiting for him as promised. He grabs his board and makes the short drop from his window to the ground. 

“How was it?” April asks as they roll towards the museum. 

Willie shrugs. “Fine. How’s Uncle Jerry?”

“He’s good,” April says. “Burnt dinner again, though.”

Willie giggles. April’s dad in the kitchen is always an entertaining image. He’s been getting at cooking since Aunt Kathy died, but he still hasn’t quite gotten the hang of it. He’s never been a man with too much pride to laugh at himself, though, so each failure is just another story to tell at parties. Willie admires that attitude. 

“He’s serious about his offer, you know,” April says. “He’d love for you to live with us.”

“I appreciate it,” Willie says, “honestly. But I can’t just leave them, you know? They’re my parents. And I don’t want to drag Uncle J into my mess, either. They’ve already given him enough shit for standing up for me when I came out.” 

April nods. “I get it. But there’s always a bed for you.” 

“Thanks, A,” he says, lightly punching her arm. 

Sean is waiting for them at the back door of the museum. “You’re late,” he hisses. “Get the fuck inside.” 

He pulls them through the door and leads them to a small gallery lined with abstract expressionist pieces. Willie looks around at them in awe. He spends a lot of time in museums, but this is like nothing he’s ever felt before. There’s not a single soul in this museum besides the four of them, and it feels like all the art is for him and him alone. 

April throws an arm around his shoulder. “Someday your art is gonna be hanging up here, kid.”

“I don’t think museums tend to display skate decks,” Willie says. 

“You never know,” Logan says, and Willie realizes that she’s been sitting behind a statue this whole time, already half a bottle deep. “I saw this exhibit with sculptures made of toilet seats once.” 

Willie giggles and throws himself down next to her. “Maybe I should consider moving into the toilet genre.” 

Logan hands him a beer and takes a swig of her own. “Nah, stick to decks. I don’t think I could be friends with a toilet artist.”

“So what does one do in an empty museum?” Willie asks as Sean and April settle down around them. 

“Get drunk, touch everything,” Sean shrugs. 

“Actually,” April says. She reaches into her bag and pulls out her Polaroid. “I was thinking we could have a little photoshoot.”

“Isn’t the number one rule of breaking into a museum ‘don’t leave evidence?’” Logan asks. 

“Isn’t the number one rule of this gang ‘don’t be lame?’” Willie shoots back. He takes the camera from April and snaps a picture of Logan. 

She narrows her eyes at him. “Alright, pretty boy, two can play at that game.” 

She snatches the camera from him and then it’s _on_. The four of them chase each other around the exhibits, snapping candid photos that develop to show the biggest smiles any of them have ever had. Willie makes sure to take at least one with all of his friends, and tucks them into his pocket for safekeeping. 

After about an hour, Willie finds himself alone with April in the main gallery. It’s a big, open concrete space with a few sculptures placed around the space. Willie stands near one of the walls fixated on a photograph of a skater in mid air. 

There’s a little click and a flash next to him, and then the whirring of the camera printing out the film. 

“That’s the last one,” April says, pulling it from the camera and shaking it. “Might be my best shot yet.”

The picture starts to develop and she shows it to him, and it’s actually a pretty artistic shot. A skater boy staring art he aspires to make some day.

“Nice,” Willie says. He reaches for the print, but April pulls it back to her chest. 

“Nope,” she says. “This one’s mine.” She tucks it into her pocket. “You know something I’ve always wanted to do?”

“What?”

She gives him a shit-eating grin, then throws her head back and _screams_. 

“April, what the fuck?” Willie laughs. 

“It feels _good_ , man,” she says. “How many times have you wished you could just scream at your parents for all the shit they give you?” She throws her arms out gesturing to the empty space around them. “Just let it all out.” 

Willie gives her an incredulous look, but she’s dead serious. _Fuck it_ , he thinks. He mimics her, tossing his head back, and lets out the most primal scream he can muster. She’s right. It feels _good_. 

Sean appears in the doorway right as Willie runs out of breath. “Will you shut the fuck up?” he hisses. “What if someone hears and calls—“

He doesn’t have to finish his sentence, because red and blue lights start flashing outside the window. 

Willie grabs April’s arm, his throat going dry with panic. “April, I can’t get arrested again, Dad— he’ll kill me.” 

“It’ll be fine, okay?” she says, rubbing her thumb on arm. “Come on, out the back.” 

They grab their boards and make a run for it, hoping none of the cops notice them rolling off down the sidewalk. Logan quickly joins them, and Willie assumes Sean stayed behind to try and use his security badge to talk the cops down. 

They’re only a few dozen yards away when they hear the footsteps chasing after them. 

“Shit,” Willie mumbles. He _can’t_ let them catch him. Ever since he racked up that vandalism charge a few months ago and nearly blew his scholarship, his dad had made it very clear that nothing like that is ever to happen again. He should have known better than to break into a museum. He’s not as invincible as he likes to think. 

“I’m gonna take the shortcut,” Willie calls back to his friends, not waiting for their agreement before he veers off to the left. They have to cross the street to get to the hidden path that leads back towards their neighborhood, but the streets are so empty at 1am it won’t slow them down. 

He feels his wheels drop over the curb onto the shoulder of the road. 

“Willie, wait,” Logan calls. 

He glances back over his shoulder at her as his board rolls out into the street. 

The last thing he hears is April screaming “Bill!”

And then his whole world goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was Not expecting this chapter to be this long but I’m pretty damn proud of it. The next two or three chapters will probably be a little long as well, as they’ll deal with Willie’s time with Caleb.


	3. I Can’t Remember The Day I Sold My Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s a legend that the Santa Monica Museum of Contemporary Art is haunted. People say if you listen hard enough when the museum is nearly empty, you can hear the screams of a lonely soul. 
> 
> Willie didn’t know he could be heard. 
> 
> Or, Willie’s friends move on, and he meets one Caleb Covington.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for heavy grief. 
> 
> An apology in advance for how sad this one is. I realized about a quarter of the way through that I’m really just using this to work out my own grief for a friend who had some similarities to Willie, so just. Sorry. 
> 
> It does get a little bit lighter at the end, though. Sort of. Sunset Curve makes a cameo, so that’s fun.

There’s a legend that the Santa Monica Museum of Contemporary Art is haunted. People say if you listen hard enough when the museum is nearly empty, you can hear the screams of a lonely soul. 

Willie didn’t know he could be heard. 

He doesn’t realize it until about a year after his death. For most of those twelve months, he had followed his friends around, watching them grieve. He even went to his own funeral. It was weird, like a scene you’d only see in the movies, and he’d had to leave after his parents gave their eulogies, finally apologizing for all the times they put him down. Finally admitting they were proud of him. 

He spent most of his time at the skatepark or the museum, skating on his own until his friends showed up and he could hover on the edge of their conversation and pretend like he was still there with them. Over time, though, it got harder to pretend. They were all so sad, and for a while all they talked about was how much they missed him. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and scream _I’m still here_. Eventually, though, their wounds started to heal, and he came up less and less in conversation, and he decided that it would just be easier to visit them one-on-one, rather than torture himself watching them all hang out without him. 

That’s why he’s in the museum tonight, looking over Sean’s shoulder as he reads a welding manual at the security desk. At some point over the past year, he had decided to go to trade school. Willie’s proud of him.

However, Willie’s also bored, and while welding is a wonderful career choice, it doesn’t really capture Willie’s imagination. He gives Sean a pat on the cheek, or at least he tries to, and wanders away from the desk to look at the new art that’s been hung up since the last time he was here. 

He reaches the main gallery and finds that the skater photograph is still there. He smiles, remembering screaming with April that fatal night. 

Today kind of sucked. He dropped by his house only to find his parents, Uncle Jerry, and April having a family dinner, something that never would have happened when he was alive, at least not after he came out. He’s happy that they figured out their shit and came back together, he really is, but it still hurts to know it couldn’t have happened with him still in the picture. 

So, he screams. He screams like he does every time he comes to the museum, letting out all the pain and grief and loneliness that constantly threatens to drown him. It’s not like anyone can hear him anyways. 

Or so he thought. 

“Willie?” 

He whips his head around to see Sean standing in the entryway of the gallery, holding his flashlight like a weapon. 

Willie gapes at him. “Can—can you hear me?” 

Sean shines his light around the gallery, then shakes his head. “Fuck it,” he mutters. He clears his throat and speaks louder, glancing around the room as he does. “I don’t know if that’s you, or if ghosts are even real. I might just be imagining the screams, but other people say they hear them too, so fuck it. Willie, if you’re listening, I’m so sorry.”

Willie takes a step closer, trying to ignore the hurricane of feelings from hearing his friend address him for the first time in a year. “For what?” 

“I was so stupid. I shouldn’t have dragged you into doing something so dumb. I didn’t think... God, I didn’t think it would kill you.”

Sean lets out a sob, and Willie rushes to his side, wishing more than ever he could hug him, touch him, do _anything_ to let his friend know he’s here. “It’s not your fault,” he whispers. “You couldn’t have known.”

“I miss you so much, Willie,” Sean chokes out. “I wish you were here. You should still be here.” 

Now Willie’s crying, and he _has_ to do something. He _has_ to let Sean know that it’s okay, that he’s forgiven. So, he does the first thing he can think of. He reaches out towards the skater photo and knocks it off the wall. Sean’s eyes snaps to it, his jaw dropping. 

Willie’s just as shocked. That’s the first real thing he’s been able to touch. When he first woke up as a ghost, he’d tried to gather the polaroids scattered around the sidewalk, desperate to focus on anything but his body laying a few feet away. His fingers just passed right through them. The next thing he reached for was his board, and somehow that connected. Since then, the only things he’s been able to touch are his board and the clothes that were on his body when he died. That apparently included the one polaroid that hadn’t fallen out of his pocket, one of him and April posing next to a sculpture and mimicking its face. 

Sean lets out a wet chuckle, snapping Willie back to the present. “What, you trying to get me fired?” 

Willie can’t help but laugh. This whole situation is so absurd, so confusing. He tries to kick the frame, to give Sean some sort of answer, but his foot passes right through. 

Sean sighs and picks up the picture, running his thumb over the frame as he studies it. “Thank you,” he says. “For giving me a sign. I love you, Willie.” 

“I love you, too,” Willie whispers back, wishing desperately Sean could hear him. He hopes the picture got his message across. 

Sean hangs the frame back on the wall. “April and Logan are never gonna believe this.” 

“It’s okay,” Willie says. “It can be our secret.”

“Guess it‘ll be our secret,” Sean says, almost at the same time as Willie, and a grin spreads across Willie’s face. 

“I should get back to work,” Sean continues, wiping at his tears. “Catch you later, Willie.”

Willie takes this as his cue to leave. He doesn’t come back to the museum until after Sean quits for his new welding job. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

It’s been two years, and April still visits his grave every weekend. Sean and Logan came along too, at first, but after the museum incident Sean’s visits became less frequent until they stopped altogether. Willie understands; they had their closure. Logan still comes occasionally, but not nearly as often as she used to. She got accepted into Berkeley’s art program, and that’s taken up most of her time. Willie’s happy for her. 

April still comes every week. And every week, Willie sits with her and listens to her talk for hours. She tells him about her life, about switching her major to psychology, so she can be a school counselor and help kids like Willie with less-than-great home lives. She talks about her new friends, about the new recipes Uncle Jerry’s learning, about how his parents got a dog and she thinks it’s meant to fill the void but it’s not working. Willie talks to her too, though he knows she can’t hear. He tells her about all the cool places he gets to skate now that no one can bust him, about how he finally figured out how to teleport and he’s seen more of the world than he ever would have gotten to alive. He tells her that being a ghost isn’t all that bad, most of the time. He feels freer than he has in a long while. He just wishes she was here to enjoy it with him. 

On what would have been Willie’s nineteenth birthday, April brings cake. 

“Dad made this,” she says, holding the cake towards his grave. 

“He’s really improving,” Willie says with a low whistle, jumping off his perch on his headstone to get a closer look. “I wish I could taste it.”

April sits on the ground with the cake in front of her and starts placing candles in the frosting. “He and your parents are coming later. I just wanted some alone time with you first.” 

Willie sits down across from her and watches her methodically light the nineteen candles. 

“Happy birthday, kid,” she whispers. She leans down to blow out the candles, but Willie beats her to it. She stares at the cake for a moment, before grinning up at the headstone, her eyeline about three inches to Willie’s right. “Hey, Bill.”

“Hey,” Willie grins, shifting so it at least feels like she’s looking at him. 

Something crosses April’s mind, and her face clouds over. “There’s, um. There’s actually something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Willie tenses, his hand finding the key to April’s house on his necklace. One of the things he liked about being dead was that he didn’t have to have serious talks anymore. 

“So...” April says. “I don’t think I’ll be coming to visit you as much anymore.” 

“ _Oh,_ ” Willie breathes, and it feels like he’s been punched in the gut. 

“I still be here for the big days, you know? Your birthday, holidays...the anniversary. But my therapist says part of moving on is putting some distance between us, and I guess she’s right.”

Willie’s not going to cry. He’s _not_. She has a right to move on. He can’t expect her to stick around forever when she doesn’t even know he’s here. He wraps his arms around himself, rubbing his thumb over his bicep like April used to do. It’s not the same, but it helps. 

“I love you so much, Bill,” April continues. “I love you more than anyone or anything in this world. But I gotta live my life, you know? I have to make it worth it that I’m still here.” She swipes a tear away. “I gotta make you proud.” 

“You already do,” Willie whispers. He reaches for her hand, but it passes right through. “I understand, I guess.” He really does. It hurts, but he does. “I love you, too.”

April stays silent for a moment, using her sleeves to dry off her face. “We still have the rest of today, though.” She pulls a plastic knife out of her pocket and cuts two slices of cake. She places one on the ground in front of the headstone, unknowingly reaching though Willie to do so. 

“So I met this guy,” she says, smiling through the mist in her eyes. “I think you’d really like him. His name’s Jason...”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s been two weeks. Two weeks since his not-nineteenth birthday, and they might have been the loneliest two weeks of his existence. 

He had found himself outside April’s house a lot, but each time he reminded himself that he shouldn’t be doing that anymore, that he had to respect that she wanted space.

So, he skates. He skates everywhere he can possibly think to skate, and his newfound near-invincibility means he can try every trick he was ever too scared to attempt in life. The thrill is almost enough to make him feel alive again. 

He just wishes he had _someone_. Surely he can’t be the only ghost in all of Los Angeles. 

Maybe they’re around and he just can’t see them, he thinks on one particularly lonely day. Maybe he’s being punished. Maybe this is hell. 

_Woah._ He catches himself and shakes those thoughts from his mind. _Too dark._

He needs to clear his head, so he heads to his favorite skatepark. He doesn’t worry about his friends being there anymore; they’re all so busy with school and work and relationships that they don’t frequent it nearly as often as they used to. 

Some of the old regulars are here, though, and Willie flits between them, jumping into their conversations, pretending they can hear him. Those kids are here again, too, the buskers that were playing the day he died. They’re a little older now, and a lot better at their instruments. He sits and listens to them for a bit, watching other skaters throw spare change into their open guitar cases. One person’s quarter misses the case and rolls across the sidewalk until it rattles to a stop in front of Willie. 

He doesn’t expect to be able to touch it. He just wants to try. So, he’s about as shocked as the guitarist is when he manages to flip the coin into the case. 

“Bobby, did you see that?” the guitarist asks, bringing the music to a halt and grabbing the other guitarist’s arm. “That coin just flipped itself.”

The second guitarist, Bobby, rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay. Can we get back into it?” 

The guitarist nods, keeping their eyes glued to the case, and they jump back into their song. 

“That was impressive,” Willie hears a man say beside him. 

Willie smirks. “Yeah, they’re pretty good for a bunch of middle schoolers.” 

“No,” the man says, and that’s odd, because Willie hadn’t heard anyone but himself respond, “I was referring to your little coin trick.”

Willie frowns, trying to make sense of the comment before he realizes that the man is talking to _him_. He scrambles to hit feet and turns to find a man in an excessively fancy suit and cape, piercing blue eyes looking _directly at Willie_.

“You can see me?” Willie asks. 

“Of course I can,” the man says. “Why on Earth couldn’t I?” 

“I—I’ve never met another ghost before,” Willie says. “You are a ghost, right? ‘Cause that would be kinda awkward if you weren’t, I didn’t mean to assume.” 

The man nods, giving him an amused smirk, and Willie relaxes. “Well, that makes your little trick all the more impressive. Most ghosts need someone to teach them how to move things.” He extends a hand. “Caleb Covington, at your service.”

Willie lunges forward to shake his hand. “Willie.” He tries not to think about how this is the first physical contact he’s had in two years. “So... there other ghosts around?” 

“Oh yes,” Caleb says. “Hollywood is simply crawling with ghosts if you know where to look.” 

“And where is that?”

Caleb grins at him, and Willie can’t tell if it’s because he’s just rusty at speaking with other people, but he finds it so charming he has to take a step back. 

“It just so happens that I run a club for spirits like us,” Caleb says. 

“What kind of club?” Willie asks. It briefly crosses his mind that maybe he shouldn’t be talking to this strange adult man, but it’s been two years. He’s desperate for conversation, and besides, he’s already dead. What harm can Caleb do? 

“Think of it more as a community,” Caleb says. “All us ghosts live together at the hotel, and every night we let the lifers in for the party of your dreams.”

“Lifers?” Willie frowns. 

“You have a lot to learn, my friend.” In one gracious move, Caleb sits down on a nearby bench and motions for Willie to join him. Willie drops down next to him, eager to hear everything Caleb’s willing to tell him. 

“Lifers,” Caleb says, “are what we call those who are still living.”

“And they come to your club to party with ghosts?”

“That’s right.” 

“But they can’t see us.”

Caleb chuckles. “That’s the thing. As long as you’re within the walls of the Hollywood Ghost Club, you can be seen, and heard. You can make all sorts of friends there, living and dead.”

“ _Righteous,_ ” Willie breathes. 

“Righteous, indeed,” Caleb laughs. “Now, Willie, this club _is_ very exclusive.”

“Oh.” Willie’s excitement seeps out of him. Kind of cruel, for Caleb to be telling him all this when he knows Willie’s not good enough to have it. 

Caleb seems to notice his disappointment, and places a hand on his shoulder. “You didn’t let me finish. You’ve been on my radar for a while now, and I think you’d be a perfect addition to my club.”

“Really?” 

Caleb nods. “Yes, we could use a bright young man like you to bring some new life to the place. Or, well, forgive the expression.” 

“Oh, wow.” Willie springs to his feet and starts pacing, waving his hands around in his excitement. “Thank you, Mr. Covington.”

“Please, call me Caleb.”

“Caleb,” Willie nods. He takes the man’s hand and shakes it enthusiastically. “Thank you so much. You have no idea what this means to me.”

“I think I might,” Caleb winks. He stands and wraps an arm around Willie’s shoulders, and Willie leans into the touch. Caleb flicks his wrist and a business card materializes in his hand. “Come by this address at 8 tonight. I’ll show you around, introduce you to everybody.” 

Willie takes the card and tucks it into his pocket, right next to his one remaining polaroid. “I’ll be there.”

“See you tonight,” Caleb grins. He pulls away and heads toward the edge of the skatepark, but a few feet away he stops and turns back to Willie. 

“One more thing,” he says. “Can you dance?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost scrapped this chapter and rewrote it bc it felt too personal but it’s damn good writing so... maybe just be sensitive if you comment on the grief-related parts? Thanks. 
> 
> The next chapter will be lighter. It’s kind of the calm before the storm with Caleb. The part of Willie’s time there where he’s actually happy.


	4. So I’ll Do Just What I’m Told (And I’ll Call That Rock and Roll)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Willie doesn’t know if he’d go so far as to call Caleb a father figure, but uncle seems to fit right. It’s almost like the life Willie could have had if he’d chosen to live with Uncle J and April instead. 
> 
> And if he hadn’t been hit by a car. He tries not to think about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: psychological abuse/manipulation. Caleb used Willie’s rejection sensitivity dysphoria against him.

Willie loves the Hollywood Ghost Club. Caleb was right when he called it a community. The massive hotel is crawling with ghosts, and they just keep on joining. He’s been here for... well, he doesn’t really know how long. Time works weirdly in the club, but it doesn’t matter. The point is that he’s been here at least five years, probably more, and he still hasn’t met everyone there is to meet. 

He has made friends, though, a few of them. Dante and Fuego are usually his dance partners, so he spends a lot of time with them, and the twins, Dahlia and Daisy, have their rooms right next to his, so they’ve had a lot of late-night hangouts. None of them are his age—no one at the club is, really, it’s all adults—but they’re cool, and the twins are only in their twenties so it’s close enough. They’re willing to hang around with some kid, anyway, and that’s all Willie needs. 

And then there’s Caleb. Before his death, if Caleb had approached Willie like he had, Willie probably would have flipped him off and skated away. On the very short list of things Willie hates, authority figures are at the top, and Caleb radiates authority. But Wille’s desperation for people to talk to far outweighed his distrust, and he’s so glad it did. It led him here, and Caleb is actually pretty cool. He’s always around, checking on the other ghosts, preparing them for his legendary parties. He listens to Willie, and is willing to let him ramble about whatever new book he’s reading or all the places he travelled on his day off. It’s nice; the last adult to do that for him was Uncle Jerry. Willie doesn’t know if he’d go so far as to call Caleb a father figure, but uncle seems to fit right. It’s almost like the life Willie could have had if he’d chosen to live with Uncle J and April instead. 

And if he hadn’t been hit by a car. He tries not to think about it. 

The work helps keep him distracted. He wasn’t really expecting it, but Caleb had explained that ghosts can get lost in their own grief without something concrete to do, so working at the club helps structure their time. Willie knows from experience that he’s right, and honestly, the work is fun, so he definitely doesn’t mind it. It’s a small price to pay for eternal food and housing, plus a whole host of people to socialize with every night. So, Willie works without complaint. Mondays and Wednesdays, he waits tables, Tuesdays and Thursdays, he goes out on the town to look for new recruits, and Fridays and Saturdays, he dances in the shows. Sundays, his favorite day, he gets the entire day to do whatever he wants, wherever he wants, just as long as he’s back for dance rehearsal the next day. 

On those days off, he goes anywhere his imagination takes him. He’s been to every continent, including Antarctica. He’s skateboarded through Buckingham Palace. He’s convinced at least a thousand tourists that the Louvre is haunted. That was one of his favorite trips. Right now he’s working through a list of every major art museum in the world, one Sunday at a time. The only issue is finding someone to come with him. Dante, Fuego, and the twins are more than happy to hang out with him inside the club, but they’ve all been around for so long that traveling has lost its novelty, and they definitely don’t want to spend their day off watching Willie do tricks at the skatepark either. 

“How come I’m the only teenager here?” Willie asks one day as he browses Caleb’s bookshelf. There’s a massive library in the hotel open to all residents, but Caleb keeps his favorite books in his office and he’s given Willie free rein of his collection. 

“Not many young ghosts have your talents,” Caleb says. 

They’ve talked before about how Caleb had guessed, correctly, that Willie’s skateboarding experience would make him an excellent dancer, and they quickly discovered that Willie had some ghostly skills as well. He was much quicker to learn how to manipulate physical objects than other ghosts, and for reasons unknown to both of them, he can do a lot of tricks with cars, setting off alarms and locking doors and stuff. Willie has a theory it’s because his death was caused by a car. 

But he tries not to think about it. 

“What about all those life-fast-die-young rockstars?” Willie asks, pulling down an ancient copy of _Romeo and Juliet_. “There’s gotta be a few of them hanging around LA.”

“Where do you think I found Mandy?” Caleb smirks. Mandy is the drummer for the house band, but in life she was the drummer for a legendary glam rock band. “Most of those types at least make it into their twenties.” 

Caleb removes his reading glasses and looks up from the pile of papers he’s studying. Maybe contracts for the new batch of lifers he admitted last week. Willie had to sign one of those, too, when he joined, but he didn’t really bother to read it. 

“If this is about you being lonely,” Caleb says, “you can always recruit more teenagers. That _is_ your job, after all.”

A sudden shame burns in Willie’s gut at the implication that he’s not doing his job well enough. “Sorry. I-I didn’t know I could.”

Caleb shrugs it off. “It’s up to you who you bring.”

Willie nods, embarrassed for reacting so dramatically to something so small. He puts _Romeo and Juliet_ on the shelf, letting his eyes wander to hide his burning cheeks from Caleb. 

“I recommend _King Lear_ next,” Caleb says, going back to his contracts. 

“Cool,” Willie says, locating the play and plucking it from the shelf. “Thanks.” 

“Will you be joining me for lunch today?” 

“Yeah, definitely.” 

Caleb has never been one to show much affection, but it’s silently acknowledged among the ghosts that you can tell who Caleb is fond of by who he voluntarily eats with. There’s only about ten of them, and somehow Willie is among that number. 

“Excellent.” Caleb stands from his desk, tucking the contracts under his arm. He comes closer to Willie to pat his cheek before striding out of the office. “I’ll see you soon.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

It takes five more years for Willie to find another teen willing to join the club. At least, that’s what the calendars say. To Willie, it feels like maybe two to three years at most, and it’s the biggest slap in the face when he spots a newspaper and realizes that it’s 2001. A new millennia came and went, and he didn’t even feel it. 

He tries not to think about it. 

He’s spent those years desperately trying to find company. He’s met a couple teenage ghosts over the years, but it’s surprisingly hard to convince them to join. Some of them have already found ghostly friends their age (Willie ignores his burning jealousy at that) and a lot have an inherent distrust of the club. Willie gets it, he really does, but he doesn’t know how to convince them that there’s nothing to fear; that the club saved him and it could help them too. Some of them he finds are willing to listen, but then Caleb deems them not talented enough to join. 

It’s always a special sort of shame when he brings those ones back. Caleb simply pats Willie’s cheek and says, “Do better,” and Willie spends the next few weeks roiling in guilt and working harder than ever. 

He’s in one of those periods when he finds her. Caleb sent him out this morning with specific instructions to search the theatres and clubs along Sunset Boulevard, as the ghosts of performers often haunt their favorite venues. 

He pops into a smaller club, not even bothering to look at the name, and sees two performers on stage: an older man singing a jazzy song Willie vaguely recognizes, and a teenage girl harmonizing with him. Willie thinks it’s an odd duo, but he’s seen stranger things in show business, and the girl’s voice is amazing, so clearly she’s earned her place.

He’s been poofing around for a while, so he decides to take a break and listen to the performance. As he watches, he notices that the man never seems to acknowledge the girl. It’s a bit strange, but maybe they just don’t have great stage chemistry. 

And then the man finishes his song, turns to grab his water bottle, and walks straight through the girl. 

Willie leaps to his feet, his mouth falling open as the girl starts chattering away to the man who clearly can’t hear her. 

“You’re getting better Pete,” she says, circling around him. “Of course you can’t hold a candle to my talent, but we’ll get you there. Maybe schedule a couple extra coaching sessions this week. Couldn’t hurt.”

Willie jumps up onto the stage, and if the girl notices him, she doesn’t show it. She probably thinks he’s a lifer. 

“You’re really good,” he says. 

The girl stops moving and tries to elbow Pete, though her arm goes right though. “Kinda rude to ignore someone complimenting you, Pete.”

“Uh, he can’t hear me,” Willie says. “I was talking to you.” 

The girl’s head snaps around and she finally looks at Willie, stumbling back when they make eye contact.

“You’re a ghost?” she asks. 

“Yep,” Willie grins. “You too?”

The girl nods and holds out her hand. “I’m Sarah.”

“Willie,” he says. He shakes her hand and laughs a little at the way she marvels at their conjoined hands. 

“Wow,” she says. “Sorry. Um. You’re the first person I’ve actually talked to in a long time.”

“I know the feeling,” Willie says, and god is that all too true. “You know, I actually sort of work at a club for ghosts, and we need a new singer.”

Sarah’s eyes light up. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Willie says. “Why don’t we give Pete some space and I’ll tell you all about it?”

Sarah nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, that would be awesome.” 

Willie takes her hand and poofs the two of them out of the theater. A distant voice in the back of his head points out how similar this conversation is to the one he had with Caleb decades ago. 

He tries not to think about it. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When he finally brings Sarah to the Club, she loves it, and Caleb finally, _finally_ congratulates Willie on bringing back a ghost with talent worthy enough for his stage. 

The week after he brings her back is by far the best week of Willie’s afterlife. He finally has someone he can talk to, and though she died a full eight years after Willie did, they can still relate to each other much better than any of the adults at the club. She’s willing to watch him skate, and he could listen to her talk about all the music he’s missed for hours. When Caleb finally calls her into his office to sign her contract, Willie can barely contain his excitement. 

It takes longer than expected for her to return, so Willie picks up the latest book he’s borrowed from Caleb, and blows through the last few chapters. He figures he might as well go get a new one now, since it will give him a chance to check in on Sarah. 

He poofs outside the stairs to Caleb’s office and is about to start up them when a strong arm blocks his path. He stumbles back to see Dante and Fuego blocking the stairs. 

“Hey guys,” Willie says, “what’s up?”

“Caleb’s still with Sarah,” Fuego says, and there’s an edge to his voice Willie can’t quite comprehend. 

“Okay?” Willie says. “I was just returning this book.” Caleb has never cared before if Willie came in during one of his meetings, as long as he’s quick and quiet about it. 

“He gave us specific instructions not to let you in,” Dante says. 

And that hits Willie like a fucking car. “Oh,” he says, taking a step back and trying to blink away the sudden tears welling up in his eyes. “Did I do something wrong?” 

Dante and Fuego don’t get a chance to answer, because Sarah comes barreling down the steps, shoving them out of the way. She locks eyes with Willie and he sees a fury burning within them. 

“This is some fucking club you’ve got here,” she says. 

“I—“ Willie gapes. “What do you mean?”

“Did you sign that fucking contract?”

“Yeah?” Willie says, looking between Dante and Fuego, who just look resigned. “We all did.”

“Did you read it?”

“Not really?” Willie admits, and Sarah huffs. 

“I suppose he didn’t give you one of these either.” She pulls her sleeve up to show Willie the Club logo stamped on her wrist in purple ink. 

Willie steps closer to examine it. “What is that?”

“Figures,” Sarah scoffs, shaking her head. “I should’ve known better than to trust you. This is what I get, I guess.”

Footsteps start to come down the stairs, and she glances back over her shoulder. She turns back to Willie and says, “Fuck you,” before poofing away. 

Willie gapes at the space where she just was, then glances up at Dante and Fuego. “What just happened?” 

Caleb appears at the top of the stairs. “William,” he calls, and Willie shivers at the use of his full name. “Come here.”

Caleb vanishes back up to his office, and Willie creeps up the steps, trying to swallow the lump of fear in his throat. 

“Have a seat,” Caleb says from behind his desk when Willie pokes his head in. 

Willie does as he’s told, shrinking into the chair when Caleb looks him over. He feels like he should apologize, but he doesn’t know what for. He’s just so confused, and he can tell Caleb is furious and he doesn’t know why but it must be his fault. 

“Caleb—“ he starts.

“Where did you find her?” Caleb asks. There’s no emotion in his voice, but there’s a dangerous glint behind his eyes. 

“At—at some club,” Willie says. “I don’t remember which one.”

Caleb hums. He keeps his eyes locked on Willie’s, but doesn’t say anything. 

“What—“ Willie’s voice cracks, and he clears his throat to start over. “What did she mean? About the contracts? And that stamp?”

Caleb sighs and rises from his chair, moving behind Willie to pace across the office. Willie doesn’t dare turn around. 

“You know that I require a payment in exchange for membership,” Caleb begins. 

“She didn’t want to work?” Willie asks. 

“No, she was willing to work,” Caleb says. “It was the down payment she had an issue with.” 

“Down payment?” Willie frowns. 

“Oh, William,” Caleb chuckles. “You really didn’t read the contract, did you?” 

Willie shakes his head. “You said it was just a formality.”

“It was.” Caleb perches on the edge of his desk, resting one foot on the seat of Willie’s chair. He waves a dismissive hand. “You don’t need to worry about it. But some people take more convincing than others. That’s what the stamp is for. Just to remind her that she made a commitment she needs to honor.”

“Oh,” Willie says, “Okay.” That doesn’t really explain why Sarah was so mad, but if Caleb says it’s nothing, then he trusts him. “I’m sorry I brought her,” Willie says, rubbing his thumb over his arm. “I didn’t know she’d do that.” 

Caleb places a hand on Willie’s cheek, fingers just barely brushing over the crack in his skull. “I know,” he says, and a weight lifts off Willie’s chest. “However...”

And the weight comes crashing back down. Caleb removes his hand and Willie almost cries at the loss of contact. 

“I don’t want you recruiting anymore,” Caleb says. 

A jolt of panic shoots through Willie. Recruiting is an excuse to spend the day skating through LA, and it’s a highly coveted position at the Club. Willie can’t lose it. “Wait, no. I’m sorry, please don’t—“

“Relax, William, this isn’t a punishment. I simply want you dancing four days a week instead of two. You _are_ our best dancer, after all.”

It feels like a punishment. He knows it shouldn’t, but it does. It’s a compliment, right? Caleb loves his dancing; he should feel flattered. So why does he feel like he’s fucked everything up? 

“Chin up,” Caleb says, using a finger below Willie’s chin to drag his head up. “You can even take a few days off, if you want.”

Willie nods, trying to quell the growing pool of guilt in his stomach. “Thank you.”

“Of course, William. I’ll see you for dinner?”

Willie nods and poofs out of the office. He lands on his bed and curls up under his blanket, trying to make sense of the afternoon. He’s lost another friend, and he’s lost his job, even if his replacement duty is supposed to be better. 

He’s confused, and a little hurt, a little angry at Sarah. Most of all, he’s just lonely, but that’s on him for not recruiting well enough. 

He’s so blame, so he tries not to think about it. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It takes him a few weeks to work up the courage, but one night he catches up to the twins on their way back to their rooms after a show. 

“Hey, did you guys read the contracts Caleb had us sign?” he asks. 

Daisy gives him a quizzical look. “Of course we did.”

“So what does Caleb mean when he talks about a down payment?” 

“Oh, Willie,” Dahlia tuts, and Willie’s getting really tired of hearing that sentence in that pitiful tone. He’s not dumb. Maybe a little naive, sure, maybe a little too trusting, but it’s been ten years and Caleb hasn’t betrayed his trust yet, so he should really be given more credit. “The down payment is your soul.”

Oh. 

_Oh._

So he sold his soul. Caleb _owns_ his soul. Caleb owns _him_. 

Willie doesn’t even give the twins a response. He walks through the door to his room and paces, trying to work this out in his head. 

So Caleb owns his soul. Theoretically, Willie is not in control of his own soul. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? Willie’s never felt out of control. He apparently hasn’t been in charge of his own soul for ten years and he hasn’t even noticed. 

It can’t be that big of a deal, then, if he hasn’t noticed. If this is what soullessness feels like, then honestly, it’s a small price to pay for everything he has at the Club. So Caleb owns his soul, but it’s fine. Willie’s fine with it. 

He’ll just try not to think about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter where Willie has to deal with Caleb and then he gets to be happy.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are much appreciated if you enjoyed :) 
> 
> I'm wr0temyway0ut on tumblr if you want to come chat about these ghosties. 
> 
> The “It’s not Sunset Cis either” playlist can be found [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5Jhsn0cg0JZskwAGwc6ZXP?si=-SUrLQPgS_mbtwaUzl2tcQ%E2%80%9C).


End file.
